#cornerman

[yors-truly]

Beyond Time and Space Taglist

OKAY! SO! PUTTING THIS TOGETHER FOR FUTURE REFERENCE!

I'm putting together a side blog/moving my old wikidot blog to tumblr rn (@lotus-btas if you wanna follow it), where I'll be copy-pasting this list to in the near future, which like. I've been meaning to do a while ago, but stuffs been so so busy I never got the chance qwq

SPEAKING OF! Because of that, I probably won't be posting anything there anytime soon. I do have some private posts up that I plan on making public once I'm ready (which will most likely be before or after this post goes up). Expect maybe a post here or there regarding my busy-ness in, let's say... two-ish weeks? Two-ish weeks from now.

All tags on this list are from people who liked the Beyond Time and Space post for M+S Pitch Week, since my forgetfulness forgot to actually give notice that I was doing one of these in the post itself (Sorry!!! sorry!!!). If you'd like to be added or removed, let me know in the comments :) Thanks!

@likegemstone @starlightelegy @words-after-midnight @thecrookedwriterspath @alttplink @blind-the-winds

[assiraphales]

zoro being canonically jealous across the board (anime manga and live action) is probably one of if not the funniest running bits because it’s SUCH an irrational feeling for zoro to have. no one is doubting how strong he is. no one is doubting his position as first mate / how close he is to luffy / their weird borderline telepathic relationship. and if he was paying attention, he’d notice luffy always says hi to him first always looks to him first blushes at the sight of him but he’s in the corner FUMING bc usopp nominated himself to be luffy’s cornerman during the foxy pirate arc. that luffy said sanji was worth 1000 men. that sanji dared to suggest he knew what luffy needed. giving the side eye whenever luffy talks about how strong other guys are. and of course oda just keeps introducing more and more luffy stans (and ppl for luffy to compliment) giving zoro the WORST tummy ache

[snnrinc]

[AO3 Portal]

PAIRING : Boxer!Nanami Kento x GN!Reader

TAGS : SFW, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Boxing

SUMMARY : The losing streak that the boxing champion Nanami Kento began experiencing was shocking and infuriating not just to himself, but to a lot of people around him. With his exhaustion rising and the pressure from his sponsors and supporters to perform better becoming overwhelming, Nanami finally understands why his mind is not present in the game. Something is missing, a very important component to his motivation, the one that keeps him going in the face of defeat and countless obstacles.

His spouse, you.

WORD COUNT : 4.6k

AUTHOR'S NOTE : Suffering from a back pain that had me going to the ER to get checked only to wait over 10 hours to be seen gave me the inspiration to finally write this.

This longer continuation of my previous ficlet with Boxer!Nanami was inspired by the request of a lovely reader on AO3 <3

The cheer of the spectators was deafening as they chanted his name, clapping and yelling as he walked over to the ring basked in the eye-straining lights of the reflectors. He climbed the stairs and stepped through the ropes to take a seat at his corner stool, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd in search for familiar features. All the voices around him melted into a single continuous noise, a cacophony that was starting to cause the tension in his temple to pulse painfully. It took a tap on his shoulder for him to finally shift his attention from his fruitless search through various faces of strangers to the man standing in front of him. With a sigh, the voice of his cornerman finally filtered through.

“Yo, Earth to Nanami, do you copy?”

Nanami huffed, giving Gojo an unimpressed stare as he smiled at him, his eyes almost twinkling from beyond his black glasses. He helped Nanami get his mouth guard secure and tapped his shoulder again, his tone turning a bit more sympathetic.

“Hey, I know it's easier said than done, but try to focus on the match. You'll be home before you know it.”

With that, Gojo stepped out of the ring, taking his place at the ringside and allowing Nanami a view of his opponent, sitting across from him and staring daggers at him. The referee stepped in the ring and Nanami stood up, watching as his opponent tapped his boxing gloves together and jumped from one foot to the other, clearly pumping himself up for the fight. By the looks of how he carried himself, Nanami could guess that the guy was most likely a brawler, placing all bets on heavy punches and combinations—perhaps even the type to overlook effective aggression in favour of getting points from knockdowns.

With a strategy already formulated in his mind, Nanami rolled his shoulders and cracked the tension in his neck away, stepping towards the centre of the ring and raising his fists. After the referee went through the usual rules, the bell signalled the start of the fight and Nanami moved closer, watching out for the gestures of his opponent and trying to anticipate his actions. A few punches directed at his abdomen and Nanami was quick to parry, ducking once he realised that his head was left unprotected. He narrowly missed a left hook going for his jaw, landing a clean hit to the other fighter’s ribs and sending him stumbling a few steps back. He heard his fans cheer and the voice of the commentator excitedly yelling out about Nanami’s quick reflexes, but he drowned out the sound when his opponent advanced again, unleashing a flurry of punches and forcing Nanami to retreat closer to the ropes. From the corner of his eye, he could see Gojo yelling something out, lost in the amalgam of voices. Not that it mattered to him—he did not have the energy to listen to anyone that wasn't you.

The opponent raised his arm for a punch and Nanami shifted his stance to parry it, only to be surprised by a punch from the other side, landing perfectly against his jaw. He lost his footing from the force, his vision blurred as he connected with the canvas of the ring, cold under his hot, sweaty skin. Fuck, perhaps it was for the best you were not present to see him get caught cold in such an embarrassing way by a feint.

It took him a moment to come to, and once he opened his eyes and saw his opponent at one of the neutral corners, the referee slamming his hand against the canvas next to him, he finally realised he had been knocked out for a few seconds. He quickly pushed himself off the ground, standing up before the countdown was over. He could feel the swelling in his cheekbone, the pain and tingling heralding the onset of a nasty bruise. He was sure you would fuss over him once he got home, he could almost imagine the worry in your eyes so vividly, looking at him as you’d gently tend to his injuries.

Distracted yet again, the thought of your tender touches was brutally knocked out of him by yet another punch delivered to his jaw. This time, he was at least quick enough to adjust his step before falling, a pained grunt escaping his heaving chest. He heard Gojo yell out his name in frustration and he chanced a glance at the remaining match time. He grimaced once he read it: not nearly enough for him to take back the dominance of the ring. He knew he had already lost points from being momentarily knocked down, and whilst he was correct in his assumption that the other fighter was a brawler, his punches were far more calculated than Nanami had anticipated.

Despite not throwing in the towel, it wasn't long before the match ended with the scales tipped against Nanami, the side of the crowd that hosted his supporters echoing noises of disappointment and anger. Maintaining his sportsmanship, Nanami shook the hand of his opponent before he climbed off the ring, marching towards the lockers of the boxing club in time for the organisers to prepare for the next fight card.

As Nanami walked down the hallway, shuffling off his gloves and taking out his mouth guard, he heard Gojo run up to him, slowing down once he was in step with him.

“Hey, man, what the hell happened?”

“Don't talk to me now.”

“No, what the hell is going on with you?” Gojo pushed, following Nanami in the locker room. “You've been out of it for more than half the matches this season. The sponsors are not happy, not to mention your supporters.”

Nanami sighed, throwing his gloves on a chair and placing his mouth guard in a pocket of his gym bag, making a mental note to get it cleaned and disinfected once home. He grabbed a towel as he thought over what sort of excuse he could give Gojo to get him off his back, while also not relaying his real reasons.

“I'm tired,” he said simply, to which Gojo crossed his arms.

“You're distracted,” he countered, earning a half-hearted glare from Nanami.

Sighing, Gojo turned to his own bag to grab a bottle of water, walking over to Nanami and holding it up for him to take once he finished wiping his sweat off.

“Listen, I get it,” Gojo continued. “You need your lucky charm to be present or whatever, but you really gotta pull yourself together, loverboy. Your spouse has a job just like you. You can't keep losing focus like this.”

With a sharp stare, Nanami snatched the bottle from Gojo’s hands, taking a healthy swig to soothe his thirst. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew Gojo was right. His frustration at how rarely he was seeing you despite living in the same home due to your different work schedules was starting to get to him. Coupled with his previous lost matches, it only served to add to the cocktail of negative emotions swirling in his heart, effectively distracting him regardless of how much he wanted to focus on his fights.

He finished the bottle then wiped the corner of his mouth, tuning out the rest of the words that Gojo was ranting at him. He was tired and couldn't wait to finally get home to you and your comforting arms.

The drive home had never felt longer for Nanami, not to mention each step needed to reach the front door of your home. Every muscle and bone in his body ached as he searched for his keys through his pockets, opening the door and being met with complete darkness. His shoulders deflated even further when he realised your shift today was longer than usual. He kicked his shoes off with a sigh and shrugged his jacket off, placing it in its usual spot on the coat hanger before trugging to the living room and approaching the couch. He grunted as he began to sit down, a sharp pain shooting through the muscles in his back. He lied down, trying to find a comfortable position to wait until you got home from work.

His eyes closed just as he checked the clock again, his eyelids heavy enough that he didn't even realise he was falling asleep. A few minutes passed—or perhaps close to an hour, he wasn't sure—when he felt a gentle touch on his jaw and the familiar feeling of a pair of lips on his forehead. He cracked one eye open to see you smiling at him, gently urging him to wake up.

“Hey, handsome,” you said, your thumb caressing his hand. “Can you sit up so I can patch you up?”

Blinking a few times, he did as you instructed without further argument, noticing the bandages, gauze, dressings and painkillers you had prepared on the coffee table. He could tell you had been home for a while, taking the time to get everything ready for him before waking him up to allow him a few more minutes of rest.

As you began to clean the injury on his cheek, he looked into your eyes, noticing just how much your exhaustion mirrored his through the dark circles under your eyes. He took in your features, your mere presence calming him down while he quietly waited for you to carefully place the dressing over the bruise. His cutman usually dealt with his injuries quite efficiently, making sure that he was never at risk of infection or his injuries worsening, but even so you still made sure to tend to anything that the cutman deemed insignificant. Nanami had told you before that there was no need for you to fuss over him, but you always insisted, so he patiently let you tend to him until you were satisfied and reassured that he was okay. There was something so sweet and intimate about your gentleness in the face of his vulnerability, despite how much he didn't want to admit that he loved how you cared for him. After all, as your husband, he was supposed to care for you, too, but with his profession it seemed to him that the burden fell on your shoulders more often than not.

Nanami reached up, affectionately cradling your cheek with his hand. You turned your head to kiss his palm, smiling at him before you returned to focusing on bandaging him. Your fingers swiped against his bottom lip and he winced, suddenly aware of the cut he hadn't felt while high on adrenaline.

“Sorry, it might sting,” you said, disinfecting the cut carefully with a cotton ball, damp with rubbing alcohol.

He hissed, but otherwise kept still for you to finish. You placed a soft kiss on his lips once the dressing was secure, and he smiled for the first time that day, leaning back in to steal another kiss.

“I missed you,” he said, placing his forehead against yours.

“I missed you, too,” you responded, gently threading your fingers through his hair.

“I didn't cook dinner.”

You chuckled. “You didn't have to, silly. You're tired. We can get takeout if you're hungry.”

He hummed, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you to lie down next to him on the couch. He adjusted his position so he could cuddle close to you, burying his nose in your hair to inhale your comforting scent.

“How was work?”

“Hectic,” you sighed. “I'm sorry I arrived so late, but I had a lot of work to catch up on.”

“It's fine.”

You moved your head to look at his face, raising an eyebrow at his short tone.

“Did something happen?”

“Just tired.”

The usual excuse was already prepared on the tip of his tongue, allowing him to continue hiding just how frustrated he was at your absence during his matches, but as a fellow workaholic he knew he had no legs to stand on when it came to complaining about you working so hard each day for the both of you, lest his middle name is Hypocrite. To soothe your worries, he planted a kiss to your forehead, rubbing his palm across your back and smiling at you lovingly.

“Let's go to bed.”

Nanami was sure that if he heard the referee count whilst he was on the ground one more time, he'd lose it. Perhaps then he'd finally be able to concentrate.

A flash knockdown had never been this annoying and demotivating. It had gotten to the point that he was starting to doubt his own abilities and experience. Surely he hadn't always had a glass jaw. In the past, everyone was throwing praises left and right about how he had such a “good set of whiskers,” how his slips and punches always seemed to be so well calculated, and how he dominated the ring no matter his position. Nowadays, not only was he getting his ass handed to him by fringe contenders, but by upstarts and low calibre fighters. It was honestly shameful for someone of his rank, and despite occasionally winning a match here and there, it was not nearly enough to please his sponsors and supporters.

The sound of the bell rang with a shrill vibration through the arena, saving Nanami just seconds before he found himself on the receiving end of what he assumed was going to be a sucker punch, judging by the position the other fighter had assumed. He turned around and slumped on his corner stool, watching in a daze how his cutman Geto stepped up to the ring to tend to his injuries, with Ieiri coming up as well with a damp towel to help Nanami cool down. She took the mouth guard out and allowed him to drink some water from her bottle, moving to the side so he could spit out the rest. The last thing he needed was to get punched in the stomach full of water.

Gojo tapped the canvas to get his attention as Ieiri stepped down, clicking his tongue in disappointment. He placed his chin against his palm, leaning his elbow on the edge of the ring, his other hand lazily hanging against one of the ropes.

“You're distracted again,” Gojo said simply.

Nanami sighed in annoyance and looked away from Gojo, his eyes landing on Geto who was applying a cold compress against his cheek.

“Y’know, I hate to say it but Satoru's right,” he said. “The main event’s about to start and this is already the… what, fourth chance you get? It's also the last one if you want to get into the championship again.”

“You don't need to rub it in, Geto.”

“I'm not trying to, but you have to admit you’re getting special treatment at this point. You're too young to be shopworn.” Geto helped him get his mouth guard secure then gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “You've won before. You can do this.”

With that, Geto stepped out and Nanami took a deep breath, ignoring the snarky jabs at his performance from the commentator. He couldn't care less about their opinions when his mind was racing with negativity, shame, anger and disappointment at himself running wild within him. The adrenaline pumping through his veins was not enough to keep his mind on track anymore, and for a while he wondered if he truly had reached his limit and the only direction left for him to go after peaking was down.

He tried to shake off the thought as he approached the other fighter, taking the first punch, which landed clean against the abdomen of his opponent. He slipped away quickly when the fighter tried to retaliate, parrying the next punch with practised ease. Nanami threw one more punch, but this time it didn't connect right and it left him open for a second too long, the other fighter taking the opportunity to jump to an offensive position. Nanami raised his fists to stop the hits, the sound of his name being called from the ringside by his team making him snarl. Then suddenly, a sweeter sound filtered through, piercing his mind with crystal clarity.

“Kick his ass, Kento!”

Instinctively, Nanami looked towards the source of the sound, registering your face for a split second before he was hit by a heavy cross punch. He stepped back, narrowly dodging a rear uppercut, and stumbled against the ropes. He took one more stunned glance at the ringside to make sure he was not hallucinating, his heart swelling when he saw you were actually there, next to the rest of his team.

You actually came to support him.

A surge of energy shot through his body, his heart hammering with both adrenaline and something more, something akin to motivation, forcing his limbs into motion at last. He swivelled around and pushed himself off the ropes, prowling closer to his opponent, his eyes blazing with a dangerous fire that had almost been extinguished if not for your presence.

His opponent began throwing a few quick jabs and Nanami felt pain shoot through his forearms as he blocked them. One well-timed slip and he saw his opening, with the other fighter’s hand flying past his face, Nanami had a clear shot to his abdomen, landing a jab powerful enough to knock the wind out of him. The fighter quickly recovered, a sharp huppercut connecting to the side of Nanami's jaw and causing a dizziness to settle in his vision for a few moments. An advanced blow to be sure, but instead of letting himself overthink it, Nanami accepted that he had to switch his strategy to keep up.

The crowd cheered, the voices melding together in a way that made his ears ring. He focused his hearing until he could hear your voice again, shouting for him to keep going. He zeroed in on the sound, shaking off his dizziness and glaring at his opponent. The timer on the scoreboard was nearing the end, with just a few minutes left of the main event, and with how the balance was tipped in the favour of his opponent due to the clean punches and ring dominance, Nanami knew he had to make the last stretch count, for his sponsors and supporters, for his team, for himself, for you.

He took a deep breath, the air flowing through his lungs and allowing his muscles to destress for a second as he tuned out every other sound save for your voice. At last, he felt like his mind was finally aligned with his body, working as a whole instead of being pulled in several directions at once and splitting his focus, a single stream of concentration connecting his limbs to his will as he entered the zone. Time seemed to slow down as he shifted his position, pivoting his leg behind him as he wound up for a rear hit, and finally, after so long, he could clearly see his opening, his mind immediately dividing the width of his opponent's torso into ten parts to find the weak spot, situated right at the ratio point of seven to three.

He exhaled, swinging his fist to land a blow against the fighter’s rib, knocking him backwards a few steps. Taking advantage of his lost footing, Nanami delivered a few jabs that the fighter was too slow to counter, instead trying to land an overhand blow which Nanami dodged with ease, ducking under the hit and taking a step backwards to twist his body. His eyes shifted to his opponent’s head, eyes scanning him and effectively calculating his next move until…

There it was.

Nanami saw the weak spot, his focal point narrowing on the exact line of the seven to three ratio, and channelling all his force into his arm, he twisted his body swiftly, his fist cutting through the air like an arrow heading straight for its target. The haymaker landed perfectly against the jaw of the fighter, his head moving to the side as his body tipped over from the force, collapsing unceremoniously on the ground, a clean knockout even if from a wildcard punch.

Nanami took a few steps backwards to one of the neutral corners as the referee began counting down, his hand slamming against the canvas until he heard the final number without his opponent standing up. The cutman of the fighter helped him up as he began to regain consciousness, and Nanami sighed in relief once he heard them confirm he was alright.

He waited for the judges ruling with bated breath, the crowd clamouring as the commentators began singing praises over the clean hits that Nanami managed to land, saying something about his spark having been reawakened. Soon, the scores were out, and Nanami heard the crowd of his supporters erupt with screams of excitement before he even had a chance to register the ruling, the sound of the commentator calling out his name replaying in his mind until he shook off his initial reluctance and raised his hands up in a triumphant pose.

He saw movement near the ropes and his eyes shifted to the spot, noticing you excitedly jumping up and down as you clapped and screamed out how happy you were. Just as Nanami was about to receive his reward, he moved away from the corner, sliding through the ropes and jumping off the ring to wrap his arms around you and lift you off the ground. He spun you around with a smile as you laughed happily, clinging onto his sweaty and tense body. Nanami grabbed your thighs and wrapped them around his waist to hold you up against him, looking up at you with a lovestruck gaze as the crowd cheered.

You cradled his face in your hands with great care, leaning down to kiss him sweetly. He responded by deepening the kiss, pouring his love and adoration into it until the air from your lungs was depleted and you both had to pull away to breathe.

“I missed you,” he said, voice just loud enough for you to hear him over the clapping and cheering of the spectators.

“I missed you, too,” you responded, planting another kiss to his lips before you leaned your forehead against his.

With you secure in his arms, he certainly didn't need the judges to tell him he was the winner.

It was a slow morning for once, the sun shining through the curtains and bathing the living room in the warm glow of the afternoon. The TV was playing a random show, one you chose more to fill the silence as you both relaxed rather than to actually watch it. With his head in your lap and your hand soothingly running through his hair, Nanami felt like he was in his own corner of Heaven.

He stared up at you, watching as you mindlessly scrolled through your phone, occasionally laughing at a funny video and turning it for him to see it. You looked so gorgeous, still in your pyjamas as you lounged with him on the couch, your beautiful eyes sparkling in the light of the sun bouncing off the floor, your lips so kissable that he had to stop himself a few times from disturbing you by constantly distracting you with loving pecks.

He raised a hand to affectionately caress your jaw, catching your attention as you smiled down at him and leaned over to kiss him. He was quiet for a few moments until he finally decided to voice his curiosity.

“How come you came to the match a few days ago?” he asked, eyes watching yours as you looked back at him. “That was one of your usual work days.”

You smirked. “Gojo called me whining like a baby.”

Nanami groaned and looked away with a frustrated sigh as his hand dropped from your face. You laughed in amusement, grabbing his hand and bringing it to your lips to press a quick kiss to it.

“He explained everything to me. You should've told me you were struggling, Ken,” you said, your tone turning gentle. “I didn't know if I should feel flattered or guilty knowing what you had to deal with.”

“You had enough on your plate.”

“Kento,” you sighed, caressing his cheek and turning his head to look at your loving eyes. “I'm never too busy for you. You're my husband, we can find ways to compromise so things work well for both of us. I should've known the matches were so important to you and-”

“Don't,” he cut you off, sitting up and turning to close the distance between you again. “They're not your responsibility. You couldn't have known since I never told you directly.”

You smiled at him, shifting to wrap your arms around him and snuggle against him, pressing your face in the crook of his neck and inhaling him in. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, eyes closing to bask in the comfort of your warmth, the scent of you, his home.

“Let's promise to be direct with each other, then,” you concluded, and he smiled against the crown of your head.

“Okay, darling. Let's promise.”

“You should also probably thank Gojo. He helped me take a day off with his acting skills. My boss actually believed he was my brother who had been in an accident when he called crying.”

“Let's not push it that far.”

You chuckled, shifting again so that both of you could comfortably cuddle while browsing your phones. Nanami began scrolling through some random social media, until a message from Gojo popped on his notification bar. He opened the message and ignored the teasing messages of Gojo, the news article he sent catching Nanami’s eye instead. The thumbnail was very clearly a picture of you two kissing at the match, with him holding you in his arms and your palms placed on the sides of his head, angling him so you could share a romantic and passionate kiss. The headline read “The Power Of Love: Boxer’s losing streak curse lifted by True Love’s Kiss.”

Nanami would've rolled his eyes if he didn't somewhat agree with the headline. Your mere presence was powerful enough to sway him enough to get back on track, soothing and motivating him all at once in a way that nothing else could. He put his phone on do not disturb and looked down at you, peacefully scrolling your phone and leaning against him. He couldn't help but let out an amused huff as he watched you, his knight in shining armour, his hero saving him from his undoing with what he was convinced was true love’s kiss. You looked at him, your lips lifing up in a smile as you noticed his.

“What?” you asked with a slight laugh, and he just shook his head.

“Nothing. I just love you.”

You beamed at him, leaning in to kiss him sweetly. “I love you, too.”

You settled back in his arms, your body fitting against him like you were both carved for each other. The thoughts and worries of his matches seemed distant, forgotten for a while as he focused on the present. Nothing else mattered but the fact that regardless of the outcome of his matches or just how tired or roughed up he was, he always had a home on your arms full of love and comfort to come back to. He smiled, knowing that as long as you were together, he'd always be on the winning side.

[mjfass]

I feel the need to inform you that Regal showed up on NXT to be Lexis King's (FKA Brian Pullman Jr) cornerman in the latter's match for the heritage cup against Regal's son, and he tried to slip Lexis brass knuckles with which to take out his own flesh and blood.

It was cold blooded and I love it.

Such a villain. I love him.

[cinewhore]

From Russia, With Love

Pairing: Captain Jonathan “John” Price x Fem!reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: fighting (reader is a boxer), blood, explosives, coma, angst. Reader is roughly the same age as Price, I don’t do age gaps! If I missed something, let me know. 

A/N: Finally getting hip to the COD boys! Reader is referred to as “Memphis” which is the name that was given to her while serving with the 141. I have plans for these two teehee. Also dropped in an Oberyn reference! dedicated to @mikeisthricedeceased  & @pettyprocrastination Hope y'all enjoy. Credits to the gif creator.

You wish they would kill you already.

You’ve been in this position for at least two hours, hands tied at the wrist, strung up like a goddamn piñata. You try your best to keep one pointed toe on the ground to help with your fluctuating shifting of weight.

The people responsible for you at the moment circle around you like piranhas, their thirst for blood knowing no end.

“You’re stronger than you look.” the bald one mutters, voice rasped by a long nasty habit of smoking. You hang your head as he approaches, wrinkling your nose against the stench of his warm breath. He rears back and punches you in the stomach again, sending you for a small spin. The ropes tug and burn your skin, the calloused material leaving your wrists rubbed raw.

The other man sits towards the back of the room, watching. It’s all that he did. He never interacted with you, letting the others get their hands dirty for him instead. You could hear the clinking of ice in his glass, a rather calming sound in comparison to the broken moans that slipped out of you as you continued to be pummeled. The ice clinks again once more and the glass is sat down, signifying the man's own interest in the events unfolding in front of him. He waves his head and the bastard gets one more lick at you before he retreats.

You cough and sputter, blood steadily trickles down the side of your mouth. The head honcho finally rises out of his seat and makes his way towards you, hands clasped firmly behind his back. He takes one of his index fingers to lift your chin up, eyes penetrating the depths of your soul. You’ve been in plenty of situations where you gave death the bird and paraded around without a single care for your life but this, this was different.

For once in your life, you were afraid of what the outcome would be.

“You are one with the infamous one-four-one, no?”

You nod weakly.

“You are one with me now. I own you. Do you understand?”

Silence.

“You are a fighter and I admire that. Not once did you break your loyalty to your team but yet, you landed here in my lap. Nearly left one of my men for dead. A silly little boxing game! I can take you to the big leagues, get you out of the gutter you were rotting away in. We can make some big cash, you and me. Just do what I say, when and how I say.”

He does something that scares you more than anything. You were expecting a hard slap, maybe even another punch but no. He kisses your cheek softly and leaves. Within a blink, you were cut down from your post and hoisted up by the others, all careful not to agitate your wounds. You had been inducted into a mob and didn’t even know it.

- TWO YEARS LATER -

It’s the fucking bout of the century.

The crowd sounds like the angry wrath of the sea, a constant white noise in your ear. That is, if you could fucking hear out of the left one. You had taken a hit to the side of your head and you were sure you were concussed but adrenaline kept you up on both feet.

Your mouth is pried open by your cornerman, Usov, who squirts some liquid into it before shutting it. You tilt your head back, swishing it around before spitting it out in the bucket shoved in front of your face. The once clear liquid was now rinsed red. His hands are steady as he tries his best to patch you up, your chief second spewing strategy in half broken english.

“I can’t hear you.” you mutter, wincing when Usov touches a particularly tender area.

“What?”

You point to your left ear. “Can’t fucking hear you.”

Solomin sighs but lowers himself in front of you, angling himself towards your right side. “Better?”

You nod. “Better.”

“You can beat this one, eh? You’re pulling your punches! That is not what I teach you.What should’ve been a clean knock from start, last too long. What are you scared of?”

Failure.

“She’s too quick.” you lie through your teeth, knowing that Solomin could see right through it.

“Yes, she is quick but you are quicker. She’s aiming for your left side because that is where you’re the weakest now. You must use that to your advantage and strike back twice as hard. You are the Red Viper! Never lost a match and now is not the time to start.”

Solomon grabs you by the back of your neck and you force your eyes off of the lights and your opponent in the adjacent corner. “Remember what it took to get here. The position we are both in. Death comes first.”

You didn’t need to turn around to know whose eyes were boring into your back. The whole reason you were here. A rumor spread that he put half a billion dollars on your head for tonight's match.

You could not lose. Too many things were at steak.

The bell tolls and Usov and Solomin give final words of wisdom before you're thrusted up off your stool and back into the ring.  

Nodding your head furiously, you begin prancing along on your feet, smashing your boxing gloves together in a steady rhythm.

The boss smirks as he senses a burst of energy in you, knowing that you were gonna bring it home to glory. The cigar he puffs on rests gently between his fingers, other hand preoccupied by the drumming of his digits. He could smell the copious amounts of cash you were gonna rake in for him and he desperately needed a vacation to the beach. Russian winters weren’t his favorite.

The ref signals for the next round to start and you’re off. You buzz around the ring like it's nobody's business, landing hit after hit. The crowd goes crazy as you corner your opponent, striking her viciously. The Red Viper never gives up until its prey is defeated.

But today, the Red Viper gets a surprise attack.

You do the one thing you were told to never do and that’s look into the crowd. Even for a millisecond, you shift your focus and gaze up. It’s almost as if your body had been taken over, forcing you to give in to curiosity.

Jonathan Price stands smack dab in the middle of a section, beanie low and chiseled arms crossed against his chest. He sees you and knows that you see him. A mistake so fatal you knew you were done before the moment passed.

A glove crashes into your face, hard, and you are down for the count.

Everyone in the crowd stumbles up to their feet, swarming into a frenzy. The once mysterious now beloved fighter was on the ground for the first time in her entire career. This was not good for business.

One.

You attempt to steady your breathing, eyes glossed over in a hypnotic haze. With a few slow blinks, the ring had vanished. You were laying on the ground amidst rubble, body emitting a low throb. Your brain kept signaling to the rest of your body that you were in danger but you couldn’t react.

“She’s over here!” you could hear the accent of Soap as he began to hurl slabs of concrete out of the way, creating a path that led straight to you.

Two.

Your head was supported as hands grabbed at you, lifting you from what you thought your final resting place would be. You were trying hard to form words but could not get your mouth to cooperate. It was as if you were weightless, floating aimlessly among the dark sky. In reality you were being carried by Soap and Gaz, who had taken you to the waiting chopper that was now clearing ground and  transporting your team to safety.

You thought you had enough time to clear the explosive but you just weren’t fast enough and caught the brunt of it.

Three.

You waver in and out of consciousness, the various faces of your team pleading for you to stay with them. You wanted to! They were your family, your safe haven and backbones. You’d take a bullet for each and every one of them. You didn’t expect the bullet to be a goddamn rocket launcher.

The injuries were extensive. The medic was sure that you wouldn’t be able to walk again, much less be mobile on your own. He expected you to make a lengthy recovery if you ever came out of a coma. Days turned into weeks and that slipped into months.

Work never ceased. The boys felt terrible leaving your side but they knew that they couldn’t sit around and wait for your eyes to open, if they ever did. Price was hit the most, an unspoken thing between the two of you. He showed no sign of emotion when others were around but when it was just the two of you, he poured his heart out. He urged you to wake up, to return back to him and the 141.

You never did.

Four.

He was leading a mission in Mexico when you woke up. He didn’t receive the message until a week after and when he returned, you were gone. Upon asking the medic where you went, the poor fellow just shrugged.

“What do you mean you don’t know where she went?”

“I already told you. She was awake, given clearance to continue her healing at home, some guy came to pick her up and she vanished.”

Some guy. Your brother.

You kept your familial background to yourself but had let Price know that you had an older brother who stayed in trouble. He was too smart for his own and that often caused him to get into situations he could never really quite get out of.

Five.

He knew that if he probed enough, he could find out your whereabouts but knew you. If you wanted him to know where you were, you would’ve told him. So, he waited. And waited. 

Six.

Your eyes roll around as you regain some sort of composure, legs shaking as you push yourself up off the ground.

“Holy shit.” Solomin whispers as the ref checks in with you quickly before jumping out of the way of your opponent. You smack your glove against your head, trying to get your head straight before you entered hell again.

The ref waves his head and you are back in the throes of war, clinging onto any semblance of hope left.

Your opponent swaggers over to you with a smug look on her face, certain that with another good hit or two, you’d be on your ass for good. You match her energy and smile widely, bloodied mouth and split lips creating a ghastly image. The Red Viper was no longer here, she was now replaced by a dead woman walking.

The hot water stings as you stand underneath the flow of the cascading shower. After a brief examination, you learn the outcome of the fight. You suffered a concussion, temporary hearing loss in your left ear, bruised ribs and cheekbone swelling along with the usual cuts and bruises. Pretty chill for such a huge occasion. You’re easy with yourself as you slowly wander back into your locker room, Solomin and Usov conversing quietly.

You had zero intentions of interacting with the cameras and groupies that awaited you beyond the doors, wanting to go home and fall victim to your bed. You knew that you had to remain alert for a few more hours given your injuries and Solomin normally stuck with you through them.

“You look like hell.” Your coach grins and you shrug him off, dropping your towel to the ground. Solomin turns his back to you as you manage to slip on a shirt and loose shorts, rolling your neck around.

“Been there and it’s honestly not as bad as it seems.” you reply, groaning as you flex a muscle in your arm.

“I hear the boss is very happy. He wants to celebrate tonight.”

You give Solomin a look and he nods, wringing his hands together. You weren’t one for the nightlife and knew that partying with the man who wagered such a high bet on your life wasn’t the best idea. Besides, you were in no shape to be around throngs of people and loud music.

“Maybe some other time, hm? I’d like to crash if that’s ok with you.”

“Doctor says you must rest for a minute,” Usov cuts in. “Are you hungry? I can get us some kebabs. We can eat here and wait for the people to leave.”

You honestly couldn’t stomach anything but nodded politely at Usov’s suggestion. He claps his hands together, patting you softly on the back as he exits the room. As he leaves, he passes by two individuals, brushing shoulders with one.

“Извини́.” Excuse me.

A guard stands at the entrance to your room and holds a hand out as the two men approach.

“No fans past the barrier. Fuck off.”

Price looks at the masked man beside him. “We’re here for a business proposition, per the boss's orders.”

The men looked extremely American, or at least not in the slightest bit Russian, to him and his stance falters. Their accents weren’t American though and he didn’t know what to make of it.

“We’re comrades of the fighter.”

“You’re not friends unless she says you are.” the guard retorts. So much for a smooth plan.

The door behind the guard swings open and Solomin steps out, a cigarette in his hand. He knew you dislike smoking and walked out to indulge in his habit. You feel that sinking feeling return to your stomach and you glance at the door, spotting Price and Ghost being hassled by the guard.

The guard turns to you, clearly flustered. “Do not worry, I will get rid of them.” He assures you but you motion at him to stop. Solomin can tell something is amiss by your cagey stance and lingers, awaiting your instruction.

You stare at the two men from your past, millions of memories flashing through your brain vividly. You had half a mind to tell them to kiss your ass, to have them sent away but once again, your inquisitive side wins.

“Let them in.”

You jerk your head at Solomin who continues on his quest to smoke. The guard makes way and your old teammates enter your locker room, the door clicking shut behind them.

Ghost stands back as Price draws near. Your breathing quickens at his scent, causing your throat to tighten.

“Hello, Memphis.”

[resident-sean-expert]

What's the point of living if Sean doesn't say this to Laszlo :

'Cause he's my best friend, he's my champ. He's my hot-stuff, my Rusty cornerman. He's the cheese on my macaroni, my good-time bro.

[margindoodles2407]

Terminal Velocity (Tumblr Version)

There was a chance we'd make it through this; It's safe to say now that we've missed it And I will never lose hope, and I haven't lost hope-- I'm just realistic I will go down punching, but I will go down, and my cornerman won't bring me back around Bleed out-- I'm gonna bleed out -The Mountain Goats, "Bleed Out"

The plan was formulated only for emergencies. This, he knew, counted as one.

He was, he reflected, not afraid to die.

Death was… an inevitability. It came for every living being: the sentient, the animal, the plant; he supposed even droids could die, in a sense. It could be postponed, it could be delayed, but no matter how hard anyone fought, every escape, every narrow dodge of a bullet, every illness beaten back-- it was only borrowed time. Death could never truly be prevented.

So why should he be afraid of it?

And, after all, there were worse ways to lose one's life, he reasoned. (The war had taught him at least that much.) The view was even pleasant, in its own strange way, and the wind that whistled through his ears was a sweeter sound than the shriek of blasterfire. It was almost musical enough to drown out the scream that still rang in his mind.

(Oh, poor Wrecker. He was just finally getting over his fear of heights. How much progress would this little stunt cost his brother?)

But- still- he was not afraid to die. Even though the tram was so far up, now. He hoped his siblings would be safe. That they'd make it out unharmed. That they'd live to fight another day.

That… that, someday, they could possibly find it in themselves to forgive him.

The glass of his goggles was suddenly cloudy. He couldn't tell if it was the quickly gathering fog around him, or if instead it had something to do with the strange, unexpected warmth pricking at his eyes.

He was not afraid to die. Even if the trees were getting closer.

He was not afraid to die. But he wondered, less detatchedly than he would have liked, if death would… if it would hurt.

He was not afraid to die.

He just… regretted. That he'd never had the chance to properly say goodbye to-- to Crosshair.

But he was not afraid to die.

He was not afraid to die.

He was NOT afraid to die.

He was not afraid to die.

He was not afraid to--

[bossmamacita]

Ces in pre-SR1

Fight club baby!!! This took so long and I started it on stream!

Mills is his cornerman despite having no experience because he is a loner LMAO. They met down there in the early days. He does well in some betting moments and makes some money and then eventually wins a big prize that helps Mills and him get a studio apartment. Then he gets almost killed by a street gang and disappears for 6 weeks and comes back wearing purple w/ more money and a purpose.

[miru-has-thoughts]

WILLIAM REGAL IS GONNA BE LEXIS' CORNERMAN!!!!!

[ralith]

Pro Wrestler Ironhide Anon again!

The Incident:

Management likes to ham up the dramatics for views, so sometimes fights get taken out of the ring and into the locker and treatment rooms. Some wrestlers play the heel a little too well, and like to include bystanders at the staff's expense. One wrestler in particular, let's call him Sentinel, crossed the line when Ratchet caught a swing to the temple during a match with Ironhide. Now Ratchet's been around the block long enough to throw up a decent guard when shit goes flying, but when Ironhide saw the body of his beloved medic, (bascially) his cornerman, his CONFIDANT hit the ground, Ironhide went Off-Script. Took 1 whole camera crew AND medical team each to peel Ironhide off Sentinel, and that was AFTER the giant of a man had his enemy eating drywall. The aftermath wasn't too daunting: the ratings were actually through the roof because of the stunts pulled that night! And because a rather large number of wrestlers liked Ratchet and hated Sentinel, Ironhide's job was secure. Though he would be under what one could call House Arrest until the end of the season. Plenty of time to patch things up with Ratchet and Optimus though. (The other wrestlers dropping gifts off for Ratchet helped as well.)

(The lonely lens thing was me trying to depict Optimus's solitude as the cameraman in sort of a trashy romance book way, y'know, like "How lonely the lens of the Cameraman must be. Ever observant, never involved." Hoped you liked it!)

I very much enjoyed this anon! And thank you for the lonely lens explanation.

I'd be 100% on Ironhide's side screaming "Tear the bitch apart!" from the stands.

Perhaps Ironhide would take the time to treat Ratchet's wounds? A role reversal which leaves Optimus and Ratchet marveling at how gentle the tank of a man can be.

[assiraphales]

the reason roronoa tummy ache zoro with his “I’m worth 2000 men” / “why did he choose usopp to be his cornerman” / glaring at any man luffy compliments exists is because he doesn’t know. he doesn’t KNOW that he has been luffy’s since the moment luffy heard his name and decided three things were true ; he’d find the one piece, he’d be king of the pirates, and the demon pirate hunter would be his. he doesn’t know that he could never disappoint luffy that luffy would hold his hand to his heart (thank you opla for canonizing this). he doesn’t notice luffy blush at the sight of him that luffy always spots/says hi to him first. he did not hear luffy sobbing and calling his name at sabaody. that luffy misses him like his shadow after just days apart. that the king of the pirate NEEDS the worlds best swordsman. that while luffy will always love and share his heart freely, it will always come back home. and while luffy may be possessive, and zoro IS his, he is also zoro’s. they can communicate without words and live on the same wavelength but at the same time there’s so much they don’t say that maybe needs to be verbalized. to remind each other that they are each others to have and to hold

[scrumjock]

I’d happily volunteer to be the cornerman

[alexandervolgzangief]

ヴォルグ·ザンギエフ+ウォーリー*

Cornerman wally

✨Second✨

❄️⛱️

🥶🥵

🌛🌞

🍎🍌

😔😆

😡🥴

🐶🐵

🐻🐱

🌲🌲

🐿️🐿️💨💨💨💨💨💨💨💨💨💨

[yourlocaltrashpandaxoxo]

Punch Out's Women's Bracket OCs! (Minor Circuit)

The boys have had their turn so now it's time for the ladies! They're back and better than ever! Name: Bimbette/Barbie Stanley Age: 25 Height: 5'9 Weight: 139lbs Nationality: Caucasian American Position: #3 Minor Circuit: Record: 1-20 (1 KO) Stance: Orthodox (Right-Handed) "This bubbly, bouncy bimbo couldn't care less about how far she climbs up the boxing chain, so long as she still looks fabulous after every match! It's a common rumour that she joined the circuit cause she thought boxing was what a 'ring girl' did. She may not be the greatest fighter but she sure has style when she does so! Just don't smudge her makeup, you'll never hear the end of it..."

Name: Cap'n Lucky/Lucky Clover Age: 29 Height: 5'10 Weight: 141lbs Nationality: Irish-Caribbean Position: #2 Minor Circuit Record: 7-13 (4 KO) Stance: Orthodox (Right-Handed) "A happy-go-lucky drunkard who's name is ironic thanks to her hilariously bad luck, Lucky might not be the most intimidating pirate captain in the world but she knows how to live like one with all her drinking and 'stealing treasure', which is really just random trinkets she finds at gift shops. She's also the fabled girlfriend of Rusty Hook and even owns a rusty bucket to 'honour' him" Name: Melody Muse/Melody Morrison Age: 27 Height: 5'11 Weight: 142lbs Nationality: African-American Position: #1 Minor Circuit Record: 8-10 (4 KO) Stance: Orthodox (Right-Handed) "Melody is the upbeat, music-loving cousin of Disco Kid and the resemblances are very noticeable! They both have similar records, adore music and have multiple dancing awards! Unlike Disco, however, Melody is moreso into making her own music and hosting DJ'ing sessions. She'll have all of her funky tunes playing during matches and it's difficult not to dance along to them, even if you're her opponent in the ring!" Name: Queen 'Hoggie' Hog Age: ??? Height: 6'3 Weight: 226lbs Nationality: ??? Position: Minor Circuit Champion Record: 10-14 (5 KO) Stance: Orthodox (Right-Handed) "Nobody is quite sure what to make of Hoggie. She's an oddball of a lady who's hometown and age are both a mystery and she rarely communicates with anybody outside of her usual growls, grunts and snuffles. She also seemingly has a bottomless stomach, which has led many to believe she may not be fully human... The one person who doesn't judge her for her? Her loving boyfriend, Keith, who also doubles as her cornerman and her own personal cheerleader"

[taistelutaide]

"What did you just say to me, cornerman? Looking for trouble? You saw what I just did to your boxer, so you'd better watch your mouth unless you want a repeat performance . Nothing would give me more pleasure than to knock you out too."

[heelhausen]

Me: like. There’s no disqualifications. If kayfabe was real I’d just straight up bring a knife to the fight

Jill: call my cornerman FTR Bald the way I’m bringing a gun